Never Go Back
by SapphireOceans
Summary: Over three hundred miles away from her past, Sapphire Trewhella has started life over. She's got a great job, new friends and the perfect fiancé. But when a family member is involved in a car accident, she has to return to Senara and face her demons; demons such as memories of a green-eyed mer boy which refuse to fade away...
1. Chapter One

**I really hate my brain sometimes. Because it can never let a thought drop. So when I had the idea for this fic about an hour or so ago whilst listening to the song 'Never Go Back' by Evanescence, I had to abandon all homework, coursework and university applications and just write it, God damn it. I AM BEING HELD AGAINST MY WILL BY MY IMAGINATION.**

**Ahem.**

**But yes. Something similar to this has been done before on this website (see the amazing 'Old Wounds'), but it's been dormant for a while now, and this is a bit different, so I thought I'd go ahead and write it. 'High Tides' is still my priority Ingo-wise, but when that's finished…well I might keep this going while I catch up on other fics. Who knows? I guess it depends whether people are interested in this or not XD If you are interested, do tell me, and I'll try and update more often XD  
(Also, WARNING; Mild swearing).**

**Anyway, enough rambling…here I go!**

**Cover image was made by myself on polyvore :)**

* * *

_Save yourself, don't look back, tearing us apart until it's all gone,  
The only world I've ever known sleeps beneath the waves.  
But I'm the one who's drowning; without your love I am lost and I can never go back home…  
_**'****_Never Go Back'_**** ~ Evanescence**

* * *

**_Chapter One_**

The stale night air rushes into my lungs as I sit up, gasping and shaking, sweat pouring off me so that my hair sticks to my face. I take deep, whooping breaths, trying to calm down, and gradually the trembling decreases. I brush my hair out of my eyes and stand up on legs which are only slightly wobbly, my shorts and t-shirt sticking to me like clingy fronds of seaweed. I push away that thought almost instantly; it reminds me of the dream, and that's the last thing I want to think about right now. I walk to the window and push it open, and sigh in relief as a cool breeze washes over me, freeing short tendrils of hair from the back of my neck. The familiar sound of traffic, hooting horns and the thrum of engines mingled with the hustle and bustle of the streets below calms me, blocking out the threatening hissing voices that called to me in my sleep. After a moment, I turn and pad softly out of the room and into the bathroom. I rinse my face with cool, sweet water, washing away the sticky taint of salt and fear, before walking into the kitchen and beginning to make myself a cup of tea, hoping to calm myself to the extent that I will be able to return to bed tonight.

"Couldn't sleep either?"

I jump, before I recognise the silky drawl. "Nah. Just a stupid dream," I mutter as I dunk the teabag in the mug and swirl it around.

"That sucks. Make us a cuppa?"

I roll my eyes, but grab a mug for Jean and begin to pour boiling water into it.

"Thanks doll," she says, and this time I catch a whiff of smoke.

"Jean! Lean out the bloody window, for heaven's sake!"

"It's just one little ciggie…"

"I don't care! It stinks! We had a deal, remember?"

She grumbles for a moment, but obliges, hanging back out the window.

I finish the tea and carry a mug over, setting it down on the coffee table.

"Thanks, Saph, you're a darling."

"Whatever." I sip the tea moodily. Jean finishes her cigarette and sits down opposite me.

"So, what was the dream about?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Oh come on! I thought it was just a silly little dream?"

"It was personal," I say, staring into the deep brown depths of the tea.

"Oooooh! Was it about a boy?" She winks. "Was it about Ed? Or about someone else? Don't worry, I won't tell him if it was!"

"Oh just shut up Jean!" I snap, glaring at her over the rim of the mug. "It's personal! I told you!"

"So it was about a boy!" she screeches triumphantly, like a strangely sleek and groomed blonde harpy. "I knew it!"

"It wasn't! Can't you just drop it?"

"Fine, fine!" She rolls her eyes and begins to drink her tea.

We sit there in moody silence, the only noise the ticking of the clock, the hum of the refrigerator, the roar of the cars outside the window. London is always busy at night. Always on the move.

"I'm going back to bed," I say eventually, standing up and dumping my mug next to the sink. "Night."

She mumbles something back. Great. Now she's sulking with me. I hope it won't escalate to the point it did last time, when I yelled at her for drying her tights in the bathroom. Jean, to be honest, isn't my ideal flatmate. She's nice enough, when she's not stomping around the flat in a strop, or shrieking at her friends on the phone for two hours a day, or hogging the bathroom to take a long bath with candles and scented oils when I want to brush my teeth. We only really ended up sharing because my original flatmate, Lucie was suddenly offered a killer job up in Manchester, and I needed someone else to share with me, as I couldn't afford the rent alone. And so Jean, one of Lucie's friends, moved in. She reminds me a bit of a cat. She's got the graceful movements, the feline charm. Her grey eyes are sharp, never missing a detail, there is never a hair out of place in her sleek, glossy bob. Her skin is peach, her lipstick _always_ blazing scarlet, her suits immaculately tailored to her curvaceous body.

I slouch into my bedroom and shut the door behind me, looking the polar opposite of the glamorous woman in the silk negligee sitting in the other room. My short hair is scruffy and sticking up everywhere from all my tossing and turning. The tan I used to have from running around the sunshine all day has faded, the result of living in a city and working nine 'til five in an office. My baggy t-shirt is crumpled and worn, my eyes are ringed with dark circles. I flop back into my bed, which is still warm, and pull the duvet over my, snuggling back into the pillow. I wish Sadie was here. She always helped to scare away the nightmares before. A gut-wrenching pang of loss goes through me when I think about my beautiful, faithful girl. I still miss her so much, even though she died almost two years ago. I was with her when they put her down; something went wrong with her brain and they couldn't save her. I refused to cry until after she was gone. She always hated to see me upset. I stayed there and stroked her gently until her eyes closed and she was finally slipped away, which was the point when I burst into tears and cried until I made myself sick. I hadn't cried like that in years. Well. Not since I was seventeen and…No. I'm not going to think about that.

Ed was in the waiting room when I came out, and I cried on his shoulder all the way home. He hugged me tightly and stroked my hair, and I knew that he understood; his dog Angus had died when he was fifteen. We were still in University at the time, so he took me back to his flat and made me a hot chocolate with whipped cream and marshmallows and produced a big box of man-size tissues. A couple of days later, I found a small bag with a present hanging from the doorknob of my room. Inside was a photo frame decorated with paw prints holding a photo Ed had taken of Sadie and I together during a walk in the woods. I think that was the day that I realised I truly loved him. I roll over and look at the photo on my bedside table and smile, softly. One day, I want to get another dog. Not yet. It's too soon. But Ed wants to get one too, so maybe one day…

I glance down at my left hand and smile at the forth finger softly. The shimmering ruby winks back at me. My smile widens and I close my eyes once more, drifting off into a peaceful sleep free from dreams of dark, cloying waters wrapping around my limbs and dragging me down, down into the unwelcoming depths where I drown from loss and sorrow.

~x~

The tube is packed, and I have to stand, back pressed against the doors, and sway along with the multitude of other people crammed into the metal cylinder like sardines in a can.

"_West Kensington,_" the _ever_ so articulate announcer says as the tube begins to slide to a halt. Great. Only two more stops...

"_This is the District Line to Ealing Broadway. Calling at…_"

I sigh to myself and check my watch. I'm on time, thankfully. More people squash into the train, and away it goes again. I cling onto one of the rubber wrist straps to prevent myself from flying down the interior and skidding along the floor, like I did on my first day of work. I turned up with a ladder in my tights, my hair a mess and a rip in my new jacket. Not something that I intend to do again. The tube thrums with speed around me, and it occurs to me that it's a bit like being inside a large metal torpedo, shooting through the water towards some unknown target. This torpedo, however, finally comes to a halt at Hammersmith, where I thankfully squirm through the crowd of people to the opposite doors and make my way towards the escalators, brushing down my neat brown skirt and smoothing my short hair. My bossy can be very picky about appearances, which is why my first day was a little bit awkward. She still scrutinises me extra carefully every day to make sure than I am presentable. I briskly trot down the street, towards _Hollins & Carpers_, the publishing firm where I work, checking my watch. The walk is only five minutes long and soon I'm walking through the revolving doors of the publishing house. I _beep_ my identification tag and pass through the turnstile before going up to floor five in the lift. I'm finally in the office and all in the nick of time. I sink down into my seat opposite Mark, who also works in advertising, and log onto the computer, beginning to click through my emails.

"How're you doing?" he asks, tapping away at his own keyboard.

"Meh, not bad. You?"

"Can't complain, can't complain. I'm knocking up posters for that latest teen romance book." He rolls his eyes and I laugh.

"What're you putting on it?"

"Well, it's _another_ one about vampires, so all the standard stuff about eternal love and love sucking and stuff."

"I'm pretty sure that 'Love Sucks' is already a tagline."

"Oh, I know it is; I love that show, and the books. I'm doing a bit of paraphrasing. Just as long as I get some romantic-vampy puns in there."

I smile, flicking through my emails.

_Delete._

_Delete._

_Save._

_Read later._

_Delete._

I open one from '_Ed Windsor'_ and smile to myself.

_Have a good day at work! :D 3  
Ed xxx_

My smile widens and I quickly tap out a reply.

_I will do now :)  
xxx_

I press 'send', before returning to the inbox. "Oh God no!"

"What? What is it?" Mark frowns at me.

"They want my help in choosing a cover for one of those new 'erotic' novels! You know, the smutty ones! I'm supposed to help them pick one out!"

"Oh God no!" he echoes my earlier statement. "You poor thing!"

"Why? Why is this happening to me?" I moan.

"Just…just go for something with a nice and elegant cover, but with a dark background so that it _looks_ sensual?" he suggests. "You know…something classy…like a tie, or a ribbon or something?"

I scan the description of the book and pull a face as I flick through the ideas that I've been sent. "I suppose that'll work…thanks Mark…"

"You're welcome. You now owe me a drink." He grins as I roll my eyes. "Come on. A group of us are going to the pub tonight, it'll be fun."

"Mark, I'm not sure…"

"Nu-uh. You have to come now. I told you, you have to buy me my drink."

I raise an eyebrow. "I'm not good with large gatherings…"

"There are only about ten of us! And Justin's coming! I've mentioned you to him, and he wants to meet you. Come on, Sapphy. Please?"

"Wait, so now I have to buy you a drink and meet your boyfriend?"

"Yes."

"Fine." I pull a face. "Fine, I'll come. But my, you ask a lot of me…" I raise a hand dramatically to my forehead.

"Oi, Justin is a lovely guy! It should be a pleasure to meet him, not a trial!" Mark throws a pencil at my head and I duck.

"What's going on in here?"

Mark and I both whip around guiltily.

"Nothing," We say in unison like naughty school children.

Vanessa, our boss, raises her eyebrows, scanning my outfit as she does so. Thankfully she doesn't seem to find fault with the scarlet blouse and the bistre suit, as she just sniffs. "We don't pay you to mess around. Get back to work."

We nod mutely, before turning back to our computer screens.

~x~

It's quarter to five when the email arrives in my inbox, and we're just thinking about packing up for the night.

I've picked out a couple of the rough designs for the sultry book cover, as well as fiddling with a couple of finished ideas for a poetry anthology and finished off a promotional poster for the hundredth anniversary of a famous classic.

The soft 'bing' which alerts me is barely audible over the noise of people preparing to leave, but I hear it nevertheless, and lazily swing the mouse to the minimised email tab, clicking on the inbox. I blink. It's from Conor.

I double click on the message and open it, scanning the words on the screen with growing fretfulness. After a moment, I stand up straight, reaching for my mobile. "I can't come tonight, sorry Mark."

"But Sapphy! You said you would!"

"I really sorry, but it's an emergency." I pull on my coat, worry and anxiety bubbling in my stomach like acid reacting to a Group 1 metal.

"What? What's wrong?"

"It's my mum. She's been in an accident."

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**Review would be very much appreciated; are you interested in this story? Would you like me to continue it? Or are you just like "Meh." or "No. Just...stop." or "What the hell even is this? Why did I waste my life reading this? God, what's wrong with you? You think I want to hear more of this?"**

**Ahem. Oh self-confidence, where do you go? XD**

**Anyway, thank you for reading :D**

**3**

**Oh yeah, and don't ask me where the Chemistry simile came from XD I guess I just like Science XD**


	2. Chapter Two

**Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaay, an update! And yes, I updated this before High Tides or I Am Number Five :S. But I had inspiration for this! I still do, but I'll try and turn my attention to some of the other stories, I promise! Thank you so much to Mbali97 and UniqueFantisiser for reviewing, you guys are both amazing, thank you so much! :D Now, this chapter used to flit about in time a little bit, but I decided that it was too confusing, so I've edited it, and now hopefully it makes more sense XD**

**Oh yes, and I think I might begin each chapter with some appropriate song lyrics, just because XD I was listening to this song when I first started writing this chappie, in a car driving through London XD Hence the fact I describe London here and there XD**

**Anyway, I'll shut up now XD I hope you enjoy!**

**xxx**

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_The air was cold the night I fled,  
Your eyes were more than I could take.  
I ran so fast, I ran like hell  
And still wasn't able to escape…_

_**'When You Hurt Me The Most' ~ Stream of Passion**_

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**_Chapter Two_**

I quickly gather up my coat and bag, ignoring Mark's incessant questioning and go straight to my bosses office. I know I should probably say something to him, even if it's just goodbye, but my head is whirling too much for me to focus on anything except remembering to breathe, so words are out of the question. I somehow make it to her door, my feet carrying me of their own accord, and rap twice on the shiny wood, anxiously fiddling with the hem of my skirt.  
"Come in," she calls in a sharp voice, and I push the door open, stepping inside onto the burgundy carpet.  
"Ah. Miss Trewhella."  
She never calls me Sapphire. She thinks that it's a frivolous name, that my parents are hippies or something. She's Vanessa; suave and sophisticated, like smooth chocolate. It's funny the things you notice in times of crisis.  
"I'm afraid that I'm going to have to take a little while away from the office," I say in a small voice, which I somehow manage to keep steady. My hands, however, are another matter. They are still shaking slightly and, when I catch sight of my faint reflection in the window, I see that the colour has yet to return to my cheeks.  
"Really?" she frowns at me, her perfectly plucked eyebrows swooping down into identical diagonal lines. "And why is that?"  
I gulp slightly. Just the mere tilt of her eyebrows makes me want to shrivel up and die on the floor. But there are more pressing matters to attend to; I take a breath and persevere. "My mother's been in a car accident."  
To my eternal relief, her face softens slightly. I was half expecting her to yell at me for some reason. Maybe sometimes I forget that she's human too. "I'm sorry to hear that, Miss Trewhella."  
"My brother...he emailed me. They don't know how bad it is…I…I need to go…I need to go and see her…I thought that maybe if I just had the work sent to me, and did it from Cornwall..."  
"Of course." She sighs. "I hope she makes a full recovery."  
"Thank you," I murmur, relief coursing through me, but not overpowering the dread coiling in my stomach like a poisonous snake.  
"Well you'd better get off home. I'll make all the necessary arrangements." She sighs again and scribbles something down on a notepad, waving a manicured hand at me. "Off you go."  
I get out of there as quickly as possible, pulling on my coat as soon as I'm outside her office and heading towards the stairs. I can never take the lift; the tube is bad enough, but just the thought of cramming myself inside that tiny metal coffin with a load of other people makes my heart beat frantically. So I descend the five floors of stairs, my bag over my shoulder, and leave the building only a little later than I typically would.

It's strange, just how normal it seems. It's an ordinary day, the sky is beginning to grow dusky, the street lights beginning to turn on. The world is just rolling on as if my mother isn't lying in a hospital bed somewhere, as if a van hadn't ploughed into her car. I start walking, but I don't know where my feet are taking me. My coat is hanging open, my scarf is trailing on the floor, but my feet keep walking, walking to God knows where. People on the street swerve to avoid me the moment they catch sight of my face and, vaguely, I wonder what I must look like. I catch a glimpse in a shop window, and my question is answered. I look like a ghost. Haunted. Eyes wide and dark, skin white, my hair windswept. I look away, and still my feet walk, on and on, until I find myself on Hammersmith Bridge, the breeze whipping my skirt around me, slapping my face with icy hands. I stare out over the Thames, and feel a _tug_, pulling at my heart.

The tide is going out.

The pull is stronger than ever; I feel my hands touch the metal of the bridge's railing. I can smell the salt in the air, borne on the tidal waters of the Thames, the briny scent which I once knew so well enveloping me. One foot slowly rises of its own accord. Their voices fill my ears, so sweet, so heartbreakingly pure that they are like a shard of ice piercing through my chest.

_Dos dhe ni, myrgh kerenza. Dos yn kerdh dhe Ingo..._

I'm suddenly knocked violently to the side, jolted out of my daydream, by a passer-by's rucksack clipping my elbow. I blink for a moment, stunned, before slowly coming to my senses. I cast a look out over the water, but this time with fear instead of reverence, and then suddenly, once more my feet are moving of their own accord, but this time I'm running, running back the way I came as if Cerberus and all the hounds of hell are chasing after me, snapping at my heels. I run until I reach Hammersmith Tube Station and stagger, panting onto an escalator. I feel wetness on my cheeks and quickly swipe at the salt water, the brackish tang taunting me, just like their voices did.

_Why are they doing this to me? Why are they tormenting me?_

I'm shaking, shaking all over, so I pull my coat tightly around me, wrapping my scarf properly around my neck, despite the fact that the ends are now all muddy. It's only when I'm on the packed tube that the shaking finally subsides. For once, I don't feel claustrophobic in the mass of people; I feel safe. I'm deep in the arms of Norvys, where Moryow can never reach me. Even so, their words still ring in my mind.

_Dos dhe ni, myrgh kerenza. Dos yn kerdh dhe Ingo..._

Come to us, dear daughter. Come away to Ingo…

~x~

I finally get off of the tube at Sloane Square and walk back towards the flat. The sky is a dusty purple by this point. I can see the Gherkin in the distance, but it's outline is faded against the sky, washed with the same lilac light. The flat's on the fourth floor of a redbrick mansion block, opposite a petrol station and about a minute away from a series of small independent shops. I unlock the door and step inside before heading up the stairs to our flat and opening that door as well. Jean isn't back yet, a fact for which I am grateful, as I'm sure that it's pretty evident that I've been crying; a quick glimpse in the mirror confirms this. Mascara is streaked down my face, my eyes are puffy and my nose is bright red, and not just from the cold. It's almost April, but it's still bloody freezing. I dump my bag and coat on the sofa and head over to my laptop, to find the quickest route to St Senara on Google, and let out a soft groan. If I leave tonight, it will take me well over twelve hours to get there. I check the timetables for tomorrow and finally book myself a train ticket, before heading into my room and beginning to throw the first clothes I can find into a suitcase. Dinner is quick; microwavable rice. I wolf it down, before locating my mobile. Five missed calls. Seven texts. Opps. That must have been why he emailed; I probably left my phone on silent again. I hesitate, before calling him back. We haven't spoken in a while.

"Hello?" His voice at the other end is rusty with emotion. He must still be at the hospital, or outside it. I'm not sure if you can take calls in hospitals.

"Conor?" I say softly, sitting down on the sofa. "Is she okay?"

"Saph." The way he says my name is more like a sigh than speech. "You finally looked at your phone, did you?"

"I got the email," I mumble defensively. "Is Mum going to be okay?"

"Yes."

I sag slightly with relief, the tight knot in my stomach loosening slightly.

"She's going to live. She's broken some bones through, so she'll need help."

"I know," I say, chewing my lip, wondering whether to just come out and tell him. Although the shock might kill him. I haven't been back to Senara for more than five years.

"I've spoken to Roger, and he said that it's okay if I move back in…"

"What?" I frown. Conor lives up in St Austell now, with Rainbow, around fifty miles away from Senara. "But what about your job!?"

"I can commute…"

"It's a three hour train journey!"

"I could drive…"

"Still over an hour!"

"Mum matters more than my job!"

"Conor…" I sigh. "You're working at the Eden Project, for God's sake. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity."

"Then what do you suggest I do?" he says in a defeated voice that makes my heart ache.

"Keep working," I say gently. "You can still visit Mum, but you can't afford to lose your job, Conor. I've already booked train tickets…"

I hear his breath catch in his throat. "You…you're coming back?"

I hesitate. There's still time to back out…but then I catch sight of the photo on the mantelpiece. Mum, Conor and me.

"Yes." I whisper. "I'm coming back.

~x~

When the 10:06 train to Penzance leaves London Paddington the next day, I am on it.  
I watch London fly past the window; the tall buildings slowly filter out and are replaced by smaller towns and suburbs, until, finally, we hit open countryside and we're shooting past fields and hedgerows. I rest my head against the glass windowpane and stare out at the wide open sky, which, for England, is surprisingly blue. It's frosted with wisps of white cloud, like the decoration on a cake. This is the kind of weather that you see in tourist brochures advertising holidays in the English countryside. The kind of sky which is so blue that it could drown you. I mentally flinch away from the thought, pulling out a book to pass the time. But the words wriggle like black snakes over the pages and I find it impossible to concentrate on the storyline. Inexplicably, I find my mind drifting back to the events of yesterday, and I recoil from them as well; I don't want to think about that, about the way the tide lured me to the edge of the river, trying to pull me in and drown me. Instead, I focus on the events of before, wondering if there's anything I've forgotten, anything I should have brought with me, or a person I need to call or the like. I should probably call Mark, for one thing, and tell him that I'm okay, and that I'm sorry. Poor bloke. He must of got one hell of a fright, the way I was acting…

_Dos dhe ni, myrgh kerenza. Dos yn kerdh dhe Ingo..._

No. No. I'm _not_ going to think about that. I refuse to think about that. I set down the book and lean against the window once more, closing my eyes, trying to get some sleep. I didn't get much last night; I was too worried about Mum, too twisted up about returning to Senara and having to face…no. Not thinking about that. Not about them. Not about _him_. I try focus on other things instead, and finally I can feel myself beginning to drift off slightly, even though the vibration from the train is making my skull rattle. But inevitably, my unconscious mind returns too…

_Senara._

The word seems almost alien now. I can remember once that it was a place that I called home, a place that I kept calling home even when I was no longer living there. But things change. People change. Once upon a time there was a funny little girl with wild long hair and bony limbs who used to climb over boulders, explore caves, and search for a figure on the rocks who would lead them away into a world full of adventure and wonder. And then, once upon a time, that little girl grew up. Once upon a time, she realised that adventure and wonder only mask the pain and betrayal lurking underneath. And the little girl removed that pretty mask and saw the world from what it truly was.

_"Just cut it off! I don't care, just cut it all off!"_

I jerk slightly, my eyes flying open. No. No, I don't want to remember. Sometimes, little girls have stupid make-believe games about seals talking to them, and singing voices coming from the sea. But seals can only bark and the only noise coming from the sea is the hollow lap of waves against rock.

I absently raise a hand and finger the ends of my short brown hair.

All little girls must wake up sooner or later.

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**Thank you for reading, reviews would be most welcome! :D xxx**


	3. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three, finally! Sorry it took so long, I had my drama A2 Practical exam recently, so that's been my life for a while S: Plus I've got other exams coming up soon which I need to be revising for, so updates should be pretty thin on the ground :S But I get really long summer holidays; my last exam is on the 18th of June, I believe, so from then on, freedom! I hope you enjoy the chapter, and I hope to get around to updating High Tides ASAP :) Thank you all for your lovely reviews as well!**

* * *

_"I'm going tell her when she wants to know,  
but in the end she's on her own;  
No more fairy-tales…"  
__**'Memories'**_** ~ Beverly Craven**

* * *

**_Chapter Three_**

The first time that the sea comes into view, my stomach is dominated by a tight, twisted feeling. It's dazzling, even in March, stretching away before my eyes in shades of emerald, tourmaline jade…and sapphire. I pull a face at the thought, and receive a startled look from the woman across the aisle. The train creeps under a railway bridge carved out of the cliff, and around a corner before it finally comes to a halt.

St Pirans Station. End of the line. Literally.

I swing my rucksack onto my back and grab my suitcase before leaving the train and stepping onto the platform. The sea air hits me like a punch in the face. The smell of salt is strong…

Something bumps into my back, and I realise that I've frozen in front of the train doorway. I hastily move, walking down the platform towards the exit, wrapping my scarf more tightly around my neck with my free hand, the strong wind whipping my short hair into my face. I walk through the car park overlooking Porthminster Beach and up the steps to the street. Things have changed since I was last here. There's a new apartment building on my left; modern, built into the side of the cliff, with balconies out over the bay. It's a nice enough building, but it seems alien to me amongst the granite houses opposite it. I head down the street to the bus stop and check the times; to my relief there's a bus to Senara due in ten minutes, saving me a long wait. Unlike London, where the tubes come every two minutes and the buses every five or so, the bus to St Senara comes once every two hours. While I wait, I turn and stare out over the sea, towards the harbour . The tide is in, but I can tell that it's on the turn; I can feel the familiar tug inside of me. I grit my teeth and try to ignore the faint song that I can hear on the breeze.

_…Far across the briny sea…_

Shut up. _Shut up._

I realised that I've screwed my eyes shut, and I quickly open them. I really don't need to look like the lunatic that most people around here already think that I am. I slowly unclench my fists and pull out my iPod, slipping the headphones in my ears and finding a song with load drums and heavy guitars to drown out the haunting melody.

The bus finally arrives and I drag my suitcase towards it, hauling it up the step. I have to momentarily remove the headphones to pay the driver, but I shove them back in as soon as possible. I don't want to give _them_ time to start singing again. I head to the back of the bus and sit down in the far corner with my bags and stare out of the window as the bus begins to move. The 508, from St Pirans to Penzance. This is the bus I used to get to school every day, back when I was twelve and we lived in St Pirans for several months. Old memories begin to stir, woken by the familiar sight of the green and white bus coming down the hill towards me, and I violently crush them down, focusing instead on the mottled colours of the seats. I try not to think about the familiar journey that I'm embarking on as we drive up the hill and finally leave St Piran's behind, heading inland through Halsetown and Towednack, before finally looping around to emerge on the road to Senara. On my left I can see the stone carns dotting the hills, surrounded by wild heather and gorse, but to the right...to the right I can see the coastline as it weaves around, forming coves and headlands , and beyond that, the sea shining away like a precious gemstone. That's the thing about Cornwall. No matter where you are, you can't escape the sea. In England itself, you're never more than seventy two miles away from the sea; in Cornwall, you're never more than sixteen miles away from the sea. Like I said. No escape.

The bus grinds to a halt and I quickly make my way to the front, thanking the driver before I exit. The bus drives away and I'm left standing on an empty road, staring warily at the side road opposite me, which is marked by a road sign which reads 'Senara Churchtown'. I take a deep breath and go to move my feet, but they appear to have taken root and secured themselves to the ground. I try again, but once more my limbs refuse to obey me, and I begin to wonder if I'm going to be stuck her for all eternity, until my toes turn to roots, my legs to a trunk, my arms to branches and my hair to leaves, like Daphne in Greek Mythology. Being a tree would probably be easier, now I come to think about it. Unless someone chopped me down. Besides, I don't really have the option of turning into a tree; unlike Daphne, my father's not a river god. My father...

My father is probably pretty high up on the list of things I don't want to be thinking about right now.

_Now move, Sapphire. _

I gulp and step forwards, crossing the road and heading down the hedge lined way to St Senara.

~x~

So far so good.

I'm walking right through the middle of Senara Churchtown, but no one I know seems to have spotted me yet. This is probably because there's no one around; everyone knows everyone in Senara, so if I did run into someone, chances are they'd recognise me. I just have to make it through the main hub of the village and then I can slip off down the track which leads to our cottage, which is on the second headland west of Zennor Head. Then, with a bit of luck, I won't run into anyone but cows...

And that's when the door of the post office store opens and Mrs Pascoe emerges, followed by Alice Trewhidden.

Mrs Pascoe doesn't seem to recognise me until Alice Trewhidden gives her a sharp nudge in the ribs.

"Well, well," she says in her croaky old voice. "There's a face that I didn't expect to see again. How long has it been now? Four years?"

"Five," I say shortly, unable to look her in the face. I can feel heat rising in my cheeks.

"Hm." From the set of her lips, I can tell that she doesn't approve of me. "A long time to go gallivanting off to London, isn't it?"

"I wasn't 'gallivanting'," I say, trying to keep my voice calm and polite, although my fist is clenched so tightly that my nails are digging into my palm. "I was at university. Studying. And now I have a job. Working."

Alice opens her mouth, but Mrs Pascoe cuts in. "And very smart you look too. Your mother's awfully proud of you."

I manage a tight smile.

"I expect you're back home to look after her, aren't you?" she continues, looking rather pleased with herself. There's nothing she loves more than a juicy piece of gossip, Mrs Pascoe. I bet she's bursting to spread the word. I can hear them now.

_You'll never guess who's back!_

_What? Who?_

_That Sapphire Trewhella!_

_No!_

_Yes! Back to look after her mother. Got a job up in London, of all things!_

_A job? Really? I always thought she was too wild to settle down anywhere!_

_Well looks like she has. All smart clothes and short hair now!_

_Well I never!_

"That's right," I say after a brief pause, during which Mrs Pascoe stares at me expectantly.

"I heard about the accident, dear! Terrible thing, that van! I do hope darling Jennie isn't badly hurt."

"She's going to live. A few broken bones, Conor told me."

"Oh yes, how _is_ dearest Conor?"

"I don't know." My words are sharp, clipped. "I haven't seen him in a while."

"_Oh._" Mrs Pascoe's eyes light up. I expect her to make some kind of comment about our distant sibling relationship, but then I realise that her eyes are glued to my left hand. "_Oh!_ Well I never!"

I can feel myself flushing slightly, following her gaze down to the engagement ring.

"Will we be hearing wedding bells soon then?" she says, her face lighting up. She's hit the gossip _jackpot_ today.

"Perhaps," I say, wanting to get out of there as soon as possible. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd better make a move."

"Oh, of course dear." She's still smiling in a knowing way. Alice Trewhidden's eyes are practically popping out of her head. I bet she didn't see that one coming. "I hope to see you again soon."

I manage another polite smile, before starting again in the direction of the track.

Well that's just fabulous. I'm now going to be the talk of the entire town. Mrs Pascoe and her cousin Bertha both have foghorns for mouths. At least things can't get any worse.

~x~

They're not back from the hospital yet. I sigh to myself, setting my case down on the front step and reaching down, lifting a flowerpot and fumbling underneath. _Come on…come on…_I smile with satisfaction as I procure the spare key from under the terracotta. I unlock the door and tentatively push it open, moving inside with my case and shutting it behind me. Mum's got a new cooker. That's the first thing I notice. The kitchen's been given a fresh coat of paint as well; Roger's work, probably. I dump my suitcase and rucksack, before beginning to explore the rest of the cottage. There's a new rug in the sitting room, and new pictures on the mantel piece. I smile slightly seeing Conor's and my graduation photos, but the smile fades as I see pictures of us from when we were little, and I hastily move on. I head upstairs, into my old room. It's become more of a guest bedroom now, with magnolia walls and a red and cream duvet cover. The stuff I didn't take with me is conspicuously absent and I wonder, with a pang, if Mum's thrown it out. She wouldn't have, would she? Thrown the memories of me away like they were rancid fruit? But then again, why shouldn't she? I've hardly been the best daughter. I climb the ladder up into Conor's room, but it's pretty much the same as the last time I saw it, except now there's a double bed. I suppose that Conor comes to stay more often than I do, and from the looks of it, he brings Rainbow as well. The thought of Rainbow makes me feel guilty. She tried to keep in touch. She really did. But I didn't exactly make it easy for her. For anyone. Maybe I'm more like Daphne than I thought. I've been running away, just like she did.

"Sapphire? Are you here?"

"Sapphy? Sapphy's here?"

I jump as I hear the familiar voices, and quickly climb down the ladder, rushing back downstairs. Conor's standing in the kitchen near my bags, along with a tired looking woman in a wheelchair.

"M-Mum?" I stare at her. She smiles up at me, her familiar brown eyes crinkling around the corners.

"Sapphy…I'm so happy to see you…"

I rush to her, hugging her gently, still hardly able to believe that it's her. Her light brown hair is streaked with grey and lines mark her forehead and the corners of her eyes and mouth like cobwebs. She looks so…_old_. Guilt churns inside me once more, because I know that some, if not all of it's my fault. I was the one who ran off to London without looking back. I was the one who hardly called, or wrote, or contacted her at all. And I was the one who started all the trouble in the first place, I was the one who-

_List of things not to think about, Sapphire._

Mum hugs me back as tightly as she can, and I hear her voice breaking slightly when she whispers in my ear. "I've missed you so much."

"I missed you too," I whisper back, and it's true, even if I never showed it. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry Mum…"

She pulls away and touches my face lightly with her good hand, her own eyes shining with happiness, even though she must be in fathoms of pain. "It's all right, Sapphy. It's all right. You're home now."

I sniff slightly, just managing to hold back tears, and hug her again. But when I look up and see the expression on Conor's face, it seems to me like there's at least one person who disagrees.

* * *

**Reviews would be much appreciated :D**

**xxx**


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